


It's No Better to be Safe Than Sorry

by NeuroWriter14



Series: Mirrors [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Do not repost, Forked tongue kink, Harry Wasn't Safe and Certainly is Sorry, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Horcruxes, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Parseltongue Kink, Slightly Sane but Very Smart Voldemort, Smut, Voldemort Likes Sewing The Seeds of Discontent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29752140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: Harry wakes the day after Halloween to find that Voldemort hadn't lied. He was still in Hogwarts. With that in mind, Harry returns over and over again to the room of mirrors.He could not have made a worse choice.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Series: Mirrors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060343
Comments: 18
Kudos: 97





	It's No Better to be Safe Than Sorry

Harry was shaking.

His whole body felt like it was being split open, not that anything was truly there to split him open. The broad shoulders his arms were currently draped over actually weren't there, yet it felt so real to Harry. It always felt so real. 

He was back in the room with the mirrors, a room he found out was truly within Hogwarts. Voldemort hadn't lied, he had never left. Harry had stayed there until Halloween morning previously, and since then had found his way back over and over. He really shouldn't have, and he knew this. He was quite literally sleeping with the enemy. But the enemy was currently running a forked tongue up the column of his throat while somehow pistoning his hips upward into Harry's body, making him shake with pleasure. His cock, somehow both real and phantom, was brushing over Harry's prostate over and over while Harry tried his best to keep up, thighs flexing and hips aching. He could feel arms wrapped around his body, even though the arms weren't exactly real. 

And maybe that was why Harry had come back to the room of mirrors over and over. 

Part of him still didn't think this was real. It had to be some part of the psychic break he was certain he'd had. He still sleepwalked all over the castle, his body going places when his mind wasn't. If it truly was Voldemort, then the man was walking him all over, clearly casing the castle for some reason which Harry didn't quite understand. Voldemort knew the castle; Harry very distinctly remembered seeing a younger Voldemort in a Slytherin robe and prefect's pin. 

The thought of younger Voldemort, Tom Riddle, entered Harry's mind unbidden and suddenly he was staring at dark eyes and a cunning smirk. Tom Riddle was quite handsome with his wavy chestnut hair and high cheekbones.

Harry whimpered, seeing the face behind his eyelids that didn't at all match the phantom face that would greet him should he open his eyes once more. He could feel thin lips over his pulse, likely feeling it hammering as Harry's body rocked against Voldemort's. Sometimes it was hard to rectify that Tom Riddle, handsome Tom Riddle, had become Voldemort, who was more snake than man. There wasn't a nose to nuzzle against Harry's pulse or brush over cheek as the other shifted to the opposite side of Harry's neck to mouth at that pulse point. Voldemort's tongue was forked, and strangely arousing, but Tom Riddle's wasn't. But Tom Riddle, as Harry had met him, was a boy. Sixteen, a year older than Harry now. Voldemort, however, was a man. 

It was a man between his legs, even if the man was more phantom than real. It was a man who was driving himself up into Harry's body over and over. It was a man Harry was clinging to, moaning and whimpering. 

_You're thinking too much._ Voldemort's voice said in his mind. _We can't have that._

Before Harry knew what was happening, he was suddenly being pushed onto his back, his legs wrapped around a phantom waist, and Voldemort's cock driving into him over and over. Harry's mind went blank, his hands gripping shoulders. The muscles under his hands were rolling, Voldemort's whole body participating in every thrust into Harry. Their lips crashed together, not at all gently, and Harry's lips parted to let Voldemort's forked tongue explore. Not that any part of Harry's body was all that unfamiliar to him. Voldemort had likely memorized every part of him over the last nearly two months. 

It was his last night in Hogwarts before winter break and then he would be out of the castle for a little. He didn't know if that would make things better or worse when it came to his sleepwalking, but he certainly knew this would be the last time for a little while that he would have this. Even if it wasn't real. 

Harry came with a cry, unable to stop — and certainly not wanting to stop — the orgasm that roared through him. 

Voldemort's thrusts didn't stop though, driving him into oversensitivity as he quite often did. 

He felt long, skeletal fingers wrap around his ankles, pushing his legs up and his knees against his chest as the other continued to rock into him. Harry's body was twitching violently, his head thrashing this way and that but Voldemort never once relented. In his mind he could see another version of Voldemort bending him over a desk, thrusting into him with the same intensity his phantom body was in the room of mirrors. Harry didn't know where the room was, but it certainly wasn't the first time he had seen it or felt this same desk under him. Part of him wondered if that's where Voldemort was for real, while his mind was focused on fucking the very life from Harry Potter's body. 

Harry came again with a pained cry and then he felt something spill inside him. Though he knew when Voldemort pulled out, nothing would follow. The only cleanup Harry ever had was from his own release, never Voldemort's. 

He lied on the bed, his mind fluttering in and out of consciousness. He never returned to the dorms on these nights, and if anyone ever noticed, they never said anything. Ron probably would have been the only one who would have said something. The rest, like Neville, wouldn't dare or were too scared of him, like Seamus. 

_Where will you be spending your break?_ Voldemort's voice asked into his mind, not for the first time. He had been asking for the last week, but Harry never gave him a direct answer. The most he would ever give was that he wouldn't be at Hogwarts. 

He didn't know why Voldemort didn't look for himself, it wasn't as though it would actually be a secret from him. Nothing was a secret from Voldemort. But everything was a secret from Harry. It was maddening. But he couldn't bring himself to be annoyed right now. He was too tired. 

_I'll find out._ Voldemort promised. _Perhaps I'll even give you what you want._

"And what's that?" Harry asked sleepily. 

_A chance to talk to Dumbledore._

Harry was half asleep when that was said.

He was wide awake what was probably only a couple of hours later. 

"Ron!" 

Harry's whole body was shaking and behind his eyes, all he could see was blood. He didn't know how long he had been trashing in his sheets, or how long he had been back in the Gryffindor dorm for that matter, but he did know that his attempt to leave the bed was quickly restricted by the sheets tangled around his sweaty body. He was clothed once more though his clothes were stuck to his body. His hair was plastered against his forehead and the thrashing he had done seemed to have woken up the whole dorm and drawn Professor McGonagall who appeared in the doorway, clad in a robe and her hair falling around her shoulders. 

Harry's eyes searching frantically for someone, first looking for Ron and then to McGonagall and then to Hermione who appeared just behind her, muttering that they could hear him screaming in the girl's dorm. 

"Mr. Weasley." 

The next few minutes were a blur until Harry very suddenly found himself sitting in the headmaster's office, watching Dumbledore pace and speak with portrait after portrait. 

_Look at him there._ Voldemort whispered. _He's ignoring you._

 _You attacked, Mr. Weasley._ Harry thought back bitterly, biting down the bitterness toward Dumbledore, who had been ignoring Harry since his trial. 

_I told you I would give you a chance to talk to Dumbledore. Did you think that would come easily? Besides, you worry too much. Your blood-traitor friend's father is quite fine. He will live._

"-were able to get to Arthur just in time. And once more the Dark Lord failed to acquire it." 

_See?_ Voldemort hissed, satisfied. _I told you, I won't lie to you. Dumbledore on the other hand-_

Voldemort was quickly cut off by Harry's sudden burst of temper. Who it was truly aimed at he didn't know, but he knew he was sick and tired of feeling like a pawn to be pushed around and used and told the truth to when it was only convenient for others. 

"Look at me!" Harry demanded, silencing the whole room which was comprised of multiple Weasleys, Hermione, Professor McGonagall, several portraits, and Dumbledore all of whom were now staring at Harry. "What's happening to me?" 

_Now you're asking the right questions._ Voldemort said. 

"Ah, Severus," Was Dumbledore's answer. "I'm afraid we can't wait. Not even until the morning. I'm afraid then we will be vulnerable." Harry could feel Snape standing behind him, but couldn't force himself to look away from Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore, who still wasn't answering him.

* * *

Ultimately, whatever he was supposed to learn with Snape was useless. They spent the rest of the morning with Snape digging around in Harry's mind until Harry was shuttled off with the Weasleys and Hermione to see meet the rest of the Weasley family and visit Mr. Weasley. Voldemort was suspiciously quiet the whole time, not that Harry minded. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, from so little sleep and so much frustration. And the day never seemed to end. 

Not that he wasn't glad to see Mr. Weasley, alive, in Saint Mungo's. He was glad that Mr. Weasley was alive, and part of him was viciously gleeful at the fact that Voldemort failed to attain what he was after. The thing that nearly cost Mr. Weasley his life if not for the fact that Harry and Voldemort were inexplicably linked together. Harry could still see Mr. Weasley's blood, taste it on his tongue, as he looked at the man in his hospital bed. But it wasn't Harry, even though it felt exactly like it was. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't explain any of it. 

All he knew was that somehow, he and Voldemort were connected and that Dumbledore and Snape knew. 

"Is that-" Ron began from his side, pulling Harry from his thoughts. 

They had left Mr. Weasley's room by now and were wandering around the hospital. Harry looked up to follow Ron's gaze and finding none other than a former professor on the other side of the hall. 

"Lockhart." 

_Ah. Yes. Gilderoy Lockhart. Quite the peacock that one. And only gifted in memory charms. He could have had quite the career in the Ministry. But he lusts for fame and refuses to take it the right way. And now he's here, where you left him._

Harry wanted to snarl back at him. Voldemort, of all people, talking about someone else not taking fame the right way. 

Harry didn't even notice that Lockhart had walked over and was offering them autographs until the man's eyes focused for unusually long on him. 

"Do I know you?" He asked, strangely focused considering how he had been the last time Harry had seen him in his second year. 

"Yes, sir. You were my professor." 

Lockhart stared for a moment longer before shaking himself and grinning. "Of course, of course." 

They continued through the hospital, Hermione and Ron flanking Harry on either side until they came across yet another sight. This one though was only a shock to Ron and Hermione. Harry already knew this particular secret. As they stood watching, a woman approached Neville Longbottom. Her eyes were unfocused and her movements shaky as she held her hand forward, depositing wrappers into Neville's hand. Neville looked over at Harry, Hermione, and Ron sheepishly while behind him, his grandmother stood with her eyes blazing, daring them to challenge. 

_Alice Longbottom._ Voldemort said, his voice strangely soft. _I do not cherish the spilling of magical blood. Every drop spilled is a waste. But the fate consigned to Frank and Alice Longbottom was far worse than death. Done by some of my most loyal followers; the Lestranges and-_

 _Barty Crouch Jr._ Harry finished bitterly. 

_Yes._ Voldemort answered. 

Neville's eyes met Harry's and Harry nodded once before walking away, Hermione and Ron trailing him. 

The day continued with the lot of them, mostly composed of Weasley, eventually left the hospital and, in a series of cars crammed to the brim with aurors, made their way to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry wished he could close his eyes as they neared, but ultimately it was useless. Voldemort would know eventually, once they were inside the house. But Voldemort shouldn't be able to enter Grimmauld Place, right? 

Harry stepped through the door, feeling bone-tired down to his very core. Still, though, he managed to lift tired arms and curve his lips into a smile at the sight of Sirius who was welcoming them happily. 

Harry understood how Sirius felt, to an extent. He too had spent part of his life locked away only to feel locked away again. Sirius had been imprisoned in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit only to then be locked in a place he hated, unable to do anything. He was quite happy to have visitors and Harry was quite happy to see him. 

_It does seem a little odd, doesn't it?_

_What does?_ Harry thought tiredly, hoping he could escape for a nap. 

_Dumbledore letting your precious godfather rot away in prison when he could have done something about it. Did he even have a trial?_

_What do you mean?_ Harry slowly trudged up the stairs, hearing Hedwig hoot somewhere above him. He was careful not to disturb the portrait of Walburga Black as he slid by, eventually finding the room he had been in over the summer. 

_Dumbledore was head of the Wizengamont for some time. Certainly, he could have given Sirius Black a fair trial. Though I don't know what would have become of your godfather had he not been in Azkaban. His mother certainly would not have allowed him back here._

_You knew his mother?_ Harry's head was on the pillow by the time he finished his sentence, not even hearing the answer. 

He heard someone enter the room later, and peeled an eye open just long enough to watch the door shut once more. He was asleep again just as quickly.

* * *

Harry spent most of his break asleep. Between the nights spent with Voldemort, his body walking around when he wasn't aware of it, Dumbledore's Army, and his classes, Harry was quite tired. And the sleepwalking didn't stop at Grimmauld Place, though he certainly hoped it would. Not that he ever woke up sleepwalking as he had at Hogwarts. He only knew he was still sleepwalking due to having fallen asleep one night without anything extra on him and waking up the next day with a locket hanging around his neck. 

Kreacher had been unusually unpleasant after that, but the house-elf had done nothing to Harry outright other than muttering more and more behind Harry's back. 

At this point though, Harry didn't quite care about the locket. It was just another strange thing that happened in an overall strange year. It wasn't even the strangest thing to have happened to him. Harry still wasn't certain if training several students in Defense Against the Dark Arts or having sex with the man who had tried numerous times to kill him counted as the strangest. Most would have thought the latter, but most weren't called insane and dragged before the entire Wizengamont for a trial that nearly threw him out of school. Rita Skeeter had laid the groundwork for Harry's supposed insanity, and that bled into the next year. 

He was surprised though to find that after he returned from the break, Seamus Finnigan had come around and eventually joined the DA himself. Things were looking up slightly in that regard. 

Umbridge continuously found the rawest nerve of everyone in Hogwarts, including Voldemort, surprisingly. 

_If you don't kill her, I will._ Voldemort told him during one of the many, many boring Defense Against the Dark Arts classes he experienced. 

Much to Harry's surprise, Voldemort never outed him or the rest of the DA for forming a club that was now permitted under Umbridge's continuously growing reign of terror. It would set back Harry, and ultimately Dumbledore, massively should he be discovered, yet there was never a message to Umbridge nor did Draco Malfoy suddenly have some fantastic new insight sent by his father. In fact, Voldemort was more helpful than Harry thought, sometimes going so far as to correct Harry's form to ultimately help others. 

It wasn't long after Halloween that Harry discovered the room of mirrors and the now DA practice room were the same place. There were fewer mirrors in the DA practice room and more books and mannequins for practicing on compared to the room of mirrors that Harry was able to keep the two separate in his mind. It was lucky too so that he didn't end up flushing every other time he stepped into the room. 

By the end of January, things had advanced quite dramatically for the DA, Umbridge grew worse and worse by the day, and Snape had managed to traipse around most of Harry's mind. 

Most, being the optimum word. 

Somehow, he never found out about Halloween or the room of mirrors. Harry suspected Voldemort had something to do with that. 

In the last night of January, Harry found himself once again in the room of mirrors, staring at his own reflection a thousand times over. He wasn't exactly surprised to find himself there, but he was surprised to find that Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. Normally, by the time Harry woke up, there was a hand ghosting over him and things would begin. But not tonight. 

Instead, it was utter silence around him. 

He turned, looking from one mirror to another, waiting. But nothing came. Voldemort didn't appear. Which was strange. Harry certainly didn't sleepwalk there of his own volition, that was always Voldemort. 

So where was he?

Harry surveyed one of his reflections, resolved to wait for a moment longer before attempting to sneak back through the castle. 

He turned his head to one side, stretching his neck, but to his surprise, the reflection moved in the opposite direction. Harry turned his head to the other side, watching his reflection do the exact opposite. Harry raised his hand and watched the reflection raise the same hand. He stepped closer to the mirror and the reflection followed but as Harry cocked his head to one side, the reflection went in the opposite direction. 

Harry stepped up to the mirror, pressing his hand against the glass. 

It felt like glass at first, and then it didn't. It felt like skin. 

But nothing in this room besides himself had the feel of real skin. He froze for a moment, watching his own lips twist into a smirk. The hand on the other side of the mirror began to curl and suddenly there were fingers laced with Harry's. Harry's eyes turned red and the other began to step forward. Harry walked backward automatically, watching the mirror shudder as the other stepped through, changing as he did. 

Before him stood Tom Riddle, a little older than the version he met in the chamber. His hair was longer, his cheeks more hollowed, his eyes darker. 

"Hello, Harry." 

He wore a dark suit and the same locket that was currently also around Harry's neck. 

"You're-you're" Harry couldn't force the words out. Couldn't make himself say that the other was real. The last time Harry met a memory that had become real, Ginny Weasley was nearly dead. 

Except no one was nearly dead this time. 

But Tom didn't feel like the phantom that Voldemort often did when they were together. Tom felt real. Flesh and blood. 

"I only feel real to you. Not to anyone else." The other said as he began backing Harry through the room. "Would you like to see how real I feel?" 

"Wh-" Harry's sentence, and thoughts, were cut off by the crashing of Tom's lips on his own. 

It was so much more intense than any kiss he had ever experienced with Voldemort. So much more intense than anything he had felt for or with another person. Harry felt like he was drowning just in a kiss. 

He really shouldn't have been surprised that the kiss devolved into the usual activities of the room. Harry found himself pressed with his stomach into the bed in the center of the room and Tom over him. The other's hand was gripping his throat, not tight enough to cut off his breath but enough that he knew the other was there as Tom drove into him over and over. He couldn't force himself to look away from the other in the mirror, their eyes meeting as Tom fucked into him over and over again, driving his hips into Harry's ass and his cock into Harry's body. 

It was so much more than anything he had ever experienced with phantom Voldemort, but it was made so much worse by Voldemort himself suddenly appearing in Harry's mind. He could feel familiar lips against his own before the version of him and the version of Voldemort in his mind found themselves in a similar position as usual; Harry bent over a desk with Voldemort taking pleasure from Harry's mental formation of a body. 

He could feel the other's forked tongue slide into his mouth and Harry couldn't help himself. He moaned, quite loudly. 

Tom pulled free from him, whispering something in Parseltongue that Harry didn't quite catch but made him shiver and moan again, before he was flipped onto his back and the other pressed against him. Tom pressed against him, much more intimately than Voldemort ever had, as he pushed back inside Harry. The other's lips met his own and Harry's arms automatically moved around the other's body, holding him close. 

Tom's hand cupped Harry's face, kissing him so deeply that it made Harry's head spin. Just as much as the dual sex — physically and mentally — was making his head spin. 

Tom's other hand moved lower, grasping Harry's cock and jerking it in time with his own thrusts. 

Harry came with a shout, and much like Voldemort, Tom didn't stop. 

The other continued to drill into him until he came one, two, three more times and tears were actively spilling down his face from oversensitivity. 

He felt the other's tongue — not forked — swipe over his cheeks, licking away his tears. 

And this time, after Tom came and pulled out, Harry could feel something else follow.

* * *

Two weeks later it was Valentine's Day.

Harry hadn't truly thought about that — or any other holiday — much with everything he had currently running around his mind. Since the end of January, most nights were either spent with Tom or Voldemort, or one night both. Harry certainly thought he would be split open after that.

His occlumency lessons continued, his DA lessons continued, and overall things seemed to be stabilizing. Oddly. 

So it was certainly a surprise when he woke up the morning of Valentine's Day to an invitation to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop for the holiday. Truly, he didn't know who sent it, and part of him thought it would be dangerous to go. 

He was right. 

Immediately upon entering, he was accosted by a more than smug Tom Riddle, the same one he saw most nights, and was apparently visible by everyone else in the shop. He truly didn't know exactly how bad things would become after Tom kissed him in front of the whole tea shop, though he could already hear the whispers beginning about Harry Potter and his sexuality. Truthfully, before the night before Halloween, Harry didn't think much about his sexuality except that he thought he was attracted to girls. Cho Chang had certainly been a fixation of his for a while and probably would have been again this year if not for Voldemort. 

But as Voldemort had so correctly pointed out on one of his more irritating days, Harry also had quite the fixation on Cedric Diggory. 

Tom dragged Harry into one of the booths before proceeding to drag Harry half onto his lap and in the same intimate position as most of the other couples who were cozied together for the holiday. 

"You did this to embarrass me," Harry muttered bitterly, half at Tom and half at Voldemort. 

"No," Tom answered, running his nose around the shell of Harry's ear. "I did it to remind you of something." 

"And what's that?" Harry asked through gritted teeth, forcing a smile as the tea was placed in front of them. 

"I told you I would take good care of you. And here you are," Tom lowered his voice slightly. "Thoroughly satisfied at all times and with someone to hang off of on this ridiculous holiday." 

"It seems like you're doing most of the hanging." Harry bit out. 

Tom hummed and turned Harry's head with a brush of his fingers. "For now." 

Any retort Harry had died the moment Tom's lips met his own. It was surprisingly easy to block out the whole world when Tom was licking into his mouth as sinfully as he was right now. Harry melted into the kiss, the real kiss. There was nothing phantom about Tom Riddle. And it was terrifying.

* * *

Things grew worse under Umbridge and eventually, quite predictably according to some, the DA was discovered and along with it, Dumbledore was chased from the school. 

And then things went from bad to worse. 

Umbridge assembled the majority of the school, professors and all, ready to impose her newest reign of terror. It was only because of Fudge that she and not McGonagall was due to become Headmistress of Hogwarts. Harry, and the rest of the school, stood together, ready to endure the newest punishment. Though Hermione doubted the whole school would actually endure a punishment. It was only a small group of them that had openly defied Umbridge. No, Hermione reasoned, this was a show of strength. This was Umbridge's way of letting the whole school know that Dumbledore was gone, and Hogwarts belonged to her. 

"Good evening," She began, her sweet voice dripping venom. 

But, before she could say much more the candles and lanterns in the hall began to flicker. And then went out completely. 

Harry tried to look around, but his head was staying stubbornly forward. He tried to move his hand, and it wouldn't. He tried to twitch, move his mouth, call out, do anything other than stand perfectly still while everyone around him looked around frantically, trying to find a reason why the hall had suddenly become so cold and dark. 

Harry's body began to move of its own volition and Harry tried to struggle. He tried to hold back. He screamed, he shouted, he tried to force his legs to stay in place but it was no use. His body — he — was stalking forward toward Umbridge. Everyone around him had frozen in place, watching Harry approach the mad pink mess in front of him. 

"Well," Harry's voice said, except it wasn't exactly his voice. It was higher than normal and much more sinister. "I suppose I should thank you for that. I've been waiting." 

Umbridge had no time to reply, as suddenly Harry's wand was in his hand, and her body was on the floor in a flash of emerald. 

Harry's head rolled, stretching his neck as he turned to face the student body in front of him. 

"Truly, it was a shame you didn't listen to the poor boy. You could have saved yourself so much trouble."

 _Stop this!_ Harry yelled. _Stop this. Give me my body back. Let me go!_

"I assume I need no introduction." Harry's hands began to shift and shimmer. He could see part of his reflection in the eyes of those closest to him, he could see his own form suddenly being surrounded by the near ethereal form of Voldemort. 

The locket on his chest burned and twitched, feeding the taller form of the man who was now puppeteering Harry's body. 

"Poor Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived." Voldemort turned slightly, eyeing Snape who was slowly making his way around the professor's table. "Should I tell him, Severus?" Voldemort practically hissed the man's first name. "He's still in here." Voldemort tapped his temple. "Screaming and trying so desperately to get out." He could feel the man smirk. "Should I tell him what you did? Should I tell him the part you played?" Voldemort lowered his voice as though he was telling a secret, but he still spoke loudly. "Should I tell him that you're the reason his parents are dead?" 

Voldemort cackled maniacally as Snape froze in place. 

"Oh, such a shame. You tried to save her, your dear Lily. But you are the reason she is dead. And now the reason you are too." 

As quickly as Voldemort had dispatched Umbridge, he killed Snape too and then cackled again.

"Oh dear me," He feigned upset. "You certainly can't kill me without killing your friend." Voldemort grinned. "It took quite a while, you know, taking over Harry Potter's body. A little bit of him was taken every day. Claimed by me. With a little help." Voldemort's fingers ghosted over the locket. 

"Ironic isn't it? The one person you trusted to save you, was the key to my very success."

Harry could see the professors around him, and even some students, raising their ways, trying to figure out how to reach Voldemort without hurting Harry. 

"After all," Voldemort's voice was downright wicked. "He is the Chosen One."

Around him, the hall began to rumble and the windows shattered behind him. 

Harry's vision went black, but not before he heard the screams. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


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